The Shinra Illustrated Companion Guide to Psychological Terms
by VendettaSmiles
Summary: One-shot. Seventeen year old Marlene begins her college experience with a trip to the Shinra Institute Bookstore, only to find the most unexpected of textbooks.


Author's Disclaimer: This one-shot was written as a fanfiction exercise in first-person, present tense. It is not intended to serve as any formal source on psychological matters, offend anyone, or infringe on copyrights. All due credit for FFVII concepts, the DSM, and to internet sources from which the psychological definitions were taken or adapted belongs to the authors, creators, and copyright holders of such. No disrespect for persons suffering from psychological disorders or conditions is intended.

The Shinra Illustrated Companion Guide to Psychological Terms in published in celebration of my one year anniversary of joining fanfic.

I wish this supplemental text or something similar had been available when I was taking psych classes.

That said, I hope you enjoy this short story and invite you to leave a review.

~ Vendetta ~

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The Shinra Illustrated Companion Guide to Psychological Terms

I pause for a moment before the stone steps. They seem somehow bigger today than any of the days I have walked by them in the past. Today they are the steps to a new and uncertain future. Elaborate gilded lettering declares the building's illustrious name: _Shinra Institute of Higher Education._ Pretentious, Tifa would call the building – just like Rufus himself with his immaculate white suits and "world cannot touch me" demeanor. I can't see pretentious today; all I can see is intimidating.

I straighten my blouse. I chose my favorite, hoping it would lend me confidence. The last thing I need today is something scratchy rubbing red spots of irritation on my skin. Or to wonder endlessly if people are judging the childish ponies on my casual t-shirt. So, I chose the plain red blouse whose soft cloth feels like a hug. They say red is a confident, bold color. I hope that is so.

My hand reaches for my student ID. This is the third time I have checked to be sure I have it in the fifteen minutes since I left my room above the bar. I will need it to purchase my textbooks today. A part of me is nostalgic for the gil of the old days. The old currency was familiar and had a certain weight to it in one's hand. Today, I am sad gil has been replaced by credits attached to little plastic cards. Today, I need the familiarity of old and comfortable things.

Drawing my ID out of my pocket, I consider the photo of myself, and my lips twist a little. I cannot say I am happy with the image captured there. My skin looks flat and is an odd hue due to the bad lighting. No one expects glamour shots for their ID, but they could do better than this almost sadistic, confidence-robbing hack job. Still, it feels good to run my finger over my name: _Marlene._ Seeing my name on the plastic with the Shinra Institute of Higher Education logo above it makes it all more real.

I climb the steps to stand before the wide glass doors. There aren't many steps, but somehow I feel a little winded by them today. Or, I suppose, anxiety might be the real cause behind my slight breathlessness. Here I am – seventeen years old and achieving my dreams. All my effort achieving perfect marks in school has paid off and now I am fully enrolled in Edge's only college. I've worked for this all my life. Why, then, do I feel so nervous?

The glass on the door is spotless, not a smudge. I have helped clean at Seventh Heaven long enough to know what an improbability this is. The slightest touch to glass leaves an oily smudge. Kids and adults alike place their hands on the glass to push the doors open, rather than using the handle as they should. The spotless glass proclaims the same message as the stone steps and the gilded lettering: perfection is required and you probably won't measure up. For a brief moment I am tempted to press my palm against the glass to see if it _can_ be smudged. But I am too nervous and that act too bold. Instead, I take a breath and straighten my shoulders before using the handle to swing the massive door open.

My eyes take a moment to adjust to the indoor lighting. To the left I see a room marked _Shinra Institute Bookstore._ That's my destination today. Perhaps it shouldn't seem such a momentous occasion, but purchasing the textbooks for my classes marks the beginning of my collegiate experience. I tug out my course list that details the required reading for each class as I enter the bookstore. Wandering down the aisles upon aisles of books, I begin to find what I need for my core classes: Literature, Mathematics, Science, History, Psychology. I flip through the texts as I pick them up. They are surprisingly heavy. The blocky text covers page after page. No pictures to treat the eyes, just words upon words. I guess I am not surprised. This isn't grade school anymore.

My arm is starting to ache a bit from the heavy textbooks. I suppose I should have brought a backpack for the books as I see some other students have done. I will know better next time – next semester. This will be old hat then, I remind myself, and I will march in like I own the place. The thought bolsters my confidence, and I glance down at the requirements for the last class I still need to get books for: Psychology _._ Finding the right section, I pick up the required textbook.

Turning the tome over, I note the exorbitant price inked indelibly on the back cover. Shinra Co. should have given up Mako energy and branched into textbook sales long ago. This form of highway robbery is easily as profitable as milking the Planet for energy and probably less likely to generate terrorists.

My finger traces its way down the required readings list to the last entry: _The Shinra Illustrated Companion Guide to Psychological Terms._ A mark in the corresponding column identifies the text as _optional._ I already have enough books to break a chocobo's back or bankrupt a small continent, so I will probably skip this one. I decide to take a quick look before checking out, though.

Setting my other books on the floor to give my exhausted arms a break, I flip open the rather slender volume. Colored tabs demarcate the various sections. I glance at their titles and then begin to skim through the pages. Beautiful watercolor and oil paintings and elegant pen and pencil drawings capture my attention and cause me to pause and read the captions.

The first page I halt on portrays a handsome young man in a SOLDIER uniform with untamed dark hair and brilliant blue-inked eyes. An easy smile suggests kindness and a sense of humor. Above the character is the name: Zack Fair. Below the caption reads: _Psychological Resilience – an individual's ability to properly adapt to stress and adversity. Individuals demonstrate resilience when they can face difficult experiences and rise above them with ease. There is a common misconception that people who are resilient experience no negative emotions or thoughts and display optimism in all situations. Contrary to this misconception, the reality remains that resiliency is demonstrated within individuals who can effectively and relatively easily navigate their way around crises and utilize effective methods of coping._

I flip a few pages more. I am shocked by a face I know in a watercolor image. Granted he is older now, but there is no mistaking the blond hair, soft eyes, and pale skin of one of my guardians. _Cloud._ I have no choice but to see what it says about him. _Survivor's Guilt – a condition that occurs when a person perceives themselves to have done wrong by surviving a traumatic event when others did not._ The description tugs at my heart. I remember those days – the days when Cloud withdrew in guilt and helplessness. I hadn't understood at the time. I had been confused and angry. It seems like a long time ago now. I am surprised that anyone outside of my family would know about this intensely personal period in Cloud's life, especially when he is so highly respected now. I am almost irritated at the slender volume for daring to bring up that painful time.

I leave behind the watercolor and search for another entry to occupy my interest. A leering face captures my attention. Beyond his beady eyes and disturbing expression, his greasy hair repulses me. _Dr._ _Hojo,_ proclaims the text at the top of the page. I am not sure what this man is a doctor of, but I know with a deadly certainty that I would never let this man be my doctor. Mildly curious, I trail my eyes down to the caption. _Mania – abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood, often accompanied by inflated self-esteem or grandiosity, decreased need for sleep, pressured speech, flight of ideas, distractibility, and increased involvement in goal-directed activities or psychomotor agitation. May cause significant disturbance in social or occupational functioning and may be accompanied by psychotic features._

Losing interest in the greasy doctor, I flip through a few more pages, halting on a meticulously inked drawing of three young men about my own age. Something about them draws my attention and it takes me a moment to realize that I recognize them. Sure enough, the title identifies them as Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo. Curious, I skip to the bottom and read: _Shared Psychotic Disorder – a disorder characterized by a delusion that develops in an individual who is involved in a close relationship with another person who has a psychotic disorder with prominent delusions. The individual comes to share the delusional beliefs of the primary case in whole or in part. The content of the shared delusional beliefs may be dependent on the diagnosis of the primary case and can include relatively bizarre delusions (e.g., that one's mother is an alien with the right to take over and destroy the entire Planet)._

I shiver at that description. It brings back memories I would rather not recount.

I have lost all sense of time as I continue to study the book on my lap. I am sitting cross-legged on the floor and one of my feet is starting to tingle from lack of circulation, but I ignore it to read further.

I come to another image I recognize: Aerith. The detailed pencil drawing captures her perfectly, from her hair to her eyes to the self-conscious way she clasps her hands. I gently stroke the image. I was a small child when she died, but I miss her still. She got me to safety at the risk of her own, back then. I am reluctant to read what the caption has to say about this woman who will always be a bit of a heroine to me, but there is nothing anyone can say that will change how I feel about her, so I read on. _Unconditional Positive Regard – basic acceptance and support of a person regardless of what the person says or does. Considered by some to be a critical component in the therapeutic alliance._ Actually, that described Aerith exceptionally well. I can't recall a time when she ever truly condemned anyone – not even those out to hurt us.

The next picture to seize my attention depicts a very young Yuffie. I am again surprised to find someone I know in this book. The ink drawing captures my ninja friend in her youth and exudes a sense of energy and optimism. _Kleptomania – an impulse regulation disorder characterized by the recurrent failure to resist impulses to steal items, even though the items are not needed for personal use or for their monetary value. The individual experiences a rising subjective sense of tension before the theft and feels pleasure, gratification, or relief when committing the theft. Occasionally the individual may hoard the stolen objects or surreptitiously return them. Sufferers of this condition usually do not preplan the thefts or fully take into account the chances of apprehension._ I had forgotten about that phase, back when AVALANCHE was an eco-terrorist organization and my ninja friend helped herself to anybody and everybody's Materia, even though she was a princess in her own right.

Most of the pictures are of strangers – people I do not know and cannot place. Regardless, I pause and study some of the pages. _Lucrecia Crescent. Dependent Personality Disorder –a personality disorder is a long-term (chronic) condition in which people depend on others to meet their emotional and physical needs, with only a minority achieving normal levels of independence. This pervasive disorder is often associated with encouraging or allowing others to make most of one's important life decisions;_ _subordination of one's own needs to those of others on whom one is dependent, and undue compliance with their wishes;_ _and unwillingness to make even reasonable demands on the people one depends on._ I feel a bit sorry for the pretty lady in the drawing. I have never had any trouble voicing my own opinions or working towards my own goals. I cannot quite imagine what it must be like to be so dependent on others and have no sense of self. I imagine this woman, whoever she is or was, has a tragic story.

Among the many faces that mean nothing to me, another person with whom I am well acquainted stands out. Vincent Valentine's red mantle and dark locks are captured in the rich tones and texture achievable with oil paint. His caption describes social withdrawal as _the retreat from society and interpersonal relationships that can be accompanied by indifference and aloofness._ That doesn't describe him now, but I am forced to recall that the reserved man chose to spend thirty years or more of his life lying in a coffin by himself.

Just a page beyond Vincent, Cid Highwind leans against an airplane with a cigarette dangling haphazardly from his lips. The caption reads: _Oral fixation – a fixation in the oral stage of development and manifested by an obsession with stimulating the mouth._ _Oral fixations are considered to contribute to being overly talkative, smoking addictions, and alcoholism (known as "oral dependent" qualities). Other symptoms include a sarcastic or "biting" personality (known as "oral sadistic" qualities)._

I am nearing the back of the booklet. I haven't looked at every picture, but I have seen enough to know this is not the run-of-the-mill textbook. I pause on another face. Originally done in charcoal, this is another face that has had a direct impact on my life. _Reeve Tuesti._ Originally represented in AVALANCHE by his robotic cat, Reeve also became a mentor to me when I briefly interned at the WRO. I peek at the caption. _Cognitive Dissonance – the mental stress or discomfort experienced by an individual who holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values at the same time, or is confronted by new information that conflicts with existing beliefs, ideas, or values._ Yes, that was why Reeve had joined AVALANCHE – spying on them had revealed to him a different path and highlighted his own guilt for being involved in the evil being committed by the Shinra Company.

Of all the people I least expect to see in this support text, Rufus Shinra surprises me most of all. Not because I don't think the business mogul illustrates any psychological terms or disorders, but because I don't imagine that he would appreciate being delineated in such a fashion. And, unlike the other people in this booklet that I happen to be aware of, he has the power to make things happen. I am even more surprised as I read the term associated with him. _Psychological Manipulation_ – _a type of social influence that aims to change the perception or behavior of others through underhanded, deceptive, or abusive tactics by advancing the interests of the manipulator, often at another's expense._ There is no way Rufus is aware of his portrayal in this text. The irony of it being called _The Shinra Illustrated Companion Guide to Psychological Terms_ makes me chuckle.

I am suddenly aware that I am sitting on the floor of a college bookstore laughing out loud to myself. Glancing around, I catch several people watching me, the looks on their faces saying "don't get to close to that one, she's mentally unstable." I should be horrified. This is not how I imagined concluding my book acquisition trip when I carefully selected my favorite red blouse this morning. Somehow, though, I don't mind.

The slim volume still in my hand is "optional" and I don't have many credits to go around as I start my first semester of college. But I quickly decide that doesn't matter. I will work a few extra shifts at Seventh Heaven or walk Reno's dog for him, but I _have_ to have this book.

I gather up the stack of textbooks and head for the checkout. While waiting in line, it occurs to me to look and see who the author is that was brave enough to publish this unusual supplementary text. Awkwardly balancing the other textbooks in one arm, I open to the front and find the author's name: Square Enix. That has to be an alias. No one is named Square. Cloud, sure, but not Square. I would hide behind a pen name, too, if this were my book. I idly wish that it were, as I set the texts on the counter to be scanned by the cashier.

This is going to be a good semester – I know it. And Pyschology, quite possibly, may end up being my favorite class.

I leave the bookstore with my head held high and a confidence I lacked just this morning. I reach the external doors and put my palm flat against the door, pushing it wide. I am satisfied to see a handprint when I release the door and step away. And I know I am going to do just fine as I skip down the steps... steps that are just normal, ordinary, everyday steps.


End file.
